


Kidhuzurâl

by vanyarins



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, and the dwarves have no idea who this irritating amnesiac on their doorstep is, but they keep him and adopt him, like i want to explore sauron's character, lotr has ended and eru is DONE with sauron's bs, self indulgent i love mairon and i love dwarves, so he's sending him to erebor, still this is a semi-serious story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanyarins/pseuds/vanyarins
Summary: Following the War of the Ring and the defeat of the Dark Tower, the Valar are prepared to imprison Sauron for his crimes against Middle Earth until the Second Music. But the One, Ilúvatar, has another plan to roll into motion.Or Ilúvatar decides it would be a learning experience for Sauron to be reborn and be sent to the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor with no memory of his past.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC, OMC/OMC, he's been messing up for 10000 years give him a break, not even joking - Relationship, references to like idk a few other ships like bagginshield and oh def gigolas, sauron/a semi decent character arc
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Kidhuzurâl

**Author's Note:**

> v self indulgent, i wanna talk about sauron  
> and dwarves!!  
> please comment what u think <3

Chapter I

The pain is unbearable, tearing, and terrible, as it claws at his very soul. It’s pulling him apart, shredding him to pieces, each torn piece being spread out before him. He can’t see, all his eyes can recognise are shifting shades of grey, swirling hotly around him.

His past plays out in front of him, the recent events of the past week being borne out in front of him, his follies and paranoia, his heart beating hard and ringing in his ears.

_The heir to the throne of Men is baiting him, he knows this. But he cannot figure out why. Why would he accept defeat? Perhaps he wishes for an honourable death and Sauron is willing to oblige. The power held behind the Black Gates is terrible and incomprehensible, thousands upon tens of thousands of orcs, trolls and other fell creatures from the dawn of the age are bloodthirsty and ready to herald in a new age. Where the pathetic Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar, already in decline, will sail out to the West to cower behind the Valar and where a new world will be borne of order, his order._

_He issues a command for his armies to assemble behind the Gates, and the orders are given to leave no child of the West standing. He wants them gone, slaughtered, their noble blood staining the dark ground red. Part of him considers joining the forces in the fight, he wants to see the fear in the Heir of Isildur’s eyes as he renders his precious kingdom broken. And oh, how he wishes to squeeze the life out of the weak Maia, reborn after his encounter with a Valarauker, Olorin. Doesn’t he go by a new name now, Gandalf? Either way, Sauron wants to see the light, the light of the Two Trees, leave his eyes, dull those eyes._

The pain is excruciating, he has been held in these chains for hours now, tethered to wall in the prisons of whence he cannot tell. His guess would be the Halls of Mandos, for he understands that is where the spirits of the Firstborn go when their body dies, ready to be rehoused. He doubts he is going to be rehoused anytime soon.

_His memories stretch even further back. The Noldorin smith, chained to a wall, much like he is now. The scion of the House of Finwë is glaring at him with utter hatred to his brilliant silver eyes, despite the blood streaking down his face, pooling underneath him. Sauron certainly admires his spirit, a lesser being would have broken underneath the pressure by now._

_He drags an ornate dagger, Tyelperinquar’s own dagger, oh! the sweet irony is delicious, along the elf’s jaw, and further up the side of his face. He stops as he reaches the delicately pointed tips of the ear, similar to his own._

_‘I tire of these games, my friend,’ Sauron croons, his voice is rich and dark, and would almost be sensual, if he was not holding the sharp edge of a silver dagger to the sensitive skin of the elf’s ear._

_He lets the dagger slide in, just the slightest, enough to leave a small cut, blossoming a brilliant red. An elven ear is sensitive and even the slightest pressure can cause great arousal. A cut, however, causes immense pain and Sauron delights in seeing Tyelperinquar cry out._

_‘You don’t have to feel this pain, my friend. Tell me about the location of the three Elven Rings and I will set you free.’ Sauron does not plan to set the Noldorin prince free, in fact, he wants to sever the beautiful head from it’s body and send it to the other Elven rulers who are still rebellious to his rule._

_Tyelperinquar turns his head and spits a few choice slurs in Quenya at Sauron’s feet. It almost pains Sauron to see his ‘friend’ so defiant but it doesn’t bother him too much when he lets the dagger cleanly slice through the pale ear and the elf screams, his voice hoarse._

He doesn’t have regrets. It’s something he’s told himself over thousands of years. One regret leads to another and he has committed far too many atrocities to regret a singular action. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

_He remembers the War of the Wrath. He remembers seeing the great and terrible host of the Valar, assembled at the shores of Middle-Earth, followed by the graceful swan boats of the Falmari and Vanyarin soldiers in golden armour, here at the call of a mariner._

_The war rages for forty years, and it is catastrophic. Mountains fall and rise, oceans flood land, the sky is a terrible shade of blood-red, the closer one gets to the Mountains of Thangorodrim._

_It is a fight that Sauron knows that they cannot win. Every day brings the host closer and closer to the walls of Angband and he knows that Melkor is aware of this._

_His proud Master grows weaker with each fight, each loss, and the next morning brings news that the Valar are breaching the walls, Tulkas the Strong, valiant and powerful, is leading the assault._

_Sauron knows that he has been instructed to repent his crimes, to return to Valinor for judgement. And what then? Will he be banished to the Void, have his throat slit and left to die, imprisoned for millenia?_

_Sauron flees, he abandons his post and flees far into the East. A mountain range that was raised in the earliest days of Arda, battered by heavy snow and storms. None would look for him here._

He wonders what would have happened if he had stayed, and fought honourably instead of fleeing like a coward. Would they have showed him mercy? They certainly didn’t to Melkor, whose arms and legs were hewn from beneath him and his crown beaten into a collar.

_This is a memory so buried that he barely can envision it, he wonders, dully, why his mind has brought it to him. The Spring of Arda was glorious and he was one of the students of Aulë, proud and unbent. He remembered his love of creation, and of things that grew. The fleeting touch of a butterfly was something he was determined to replicate, to understand how this small and delicate creature was able to become airborne and carry itself through the air on lilac wings._

_He remembers his friends, Eönwë, Olorin, Ilmarë, even Ossë, the temperamental Maia of the deep seas. They would share their love of the world, the beauties and wonders they discovered in the sky, the depths of the earth, the stars, the ocean._

Friends! The concept was weak, he had long since learned that he could not rely on any but himself. Sooner or later, they would turn on him. They would exploit him for his own gain and he would be left with nothing. And trust! What was trust? How could he let someone privy to his thoughts, his character, his mind and be assured that they approved and would not hinder him and push their ideas onto him. It would cause disorder and chaos.

Sauron’s head was light, and he felt like his chest was constricting. Groaning, he tried to right himself up again, but found he had little energy to think, let alone move. Drowsily, he wondered what was going to happen to him and if he was to be left like this for eternity, tormented by his own mind. Then, his eyes closed and he saw nothing.

~

‘Father, thou would do well to cast him out. Send him back whence we all came and let him flee to his Master in the Everlasting Void.’

‘Silence! Thou speak of that which you understand little.’

‘My apologies, Father.’

‘Thy Halls art barely suitable for a soul, one of the greatest of my Children.’

‘Sauron received many a chance to redeem himself, thine eyes saw this.’

‘Mairon. Ye, that was his name. I will allow him a chance, a new life. Allow him to learn more about the world, a greater chance than the most powerful of my Children gave him.’

‘Thou just want amusement, Father.’

‘Must I banish you to the Grinding Ice to observe schools of fish for a thousand years, Námo?’

‘No, Father.’

‘Then, silence!’

~

‘Stupid orcs with their stupid bows and their stupid arrows,’ were just part of the many mutterings of a dwarrodam, severely disgruntled and bitter as she swept her hand at the ground. Her fingers gripped discareded arrows, both from dwarrows and orcs alike, and she shoved them into a large sack.

The Siege of Erebor had ended and as part of the war effort, many dwarfs had been tasked with the recovery of arrows, particular poisoned shafts that were hazardous if left around in the wilds surrounding the Mountain.

It could be worse, Idunn thought. She could be part of the group of dwarfs whose job it was to clean the land in front of the Gates of the Mountain of the carcasses of rotting orc. Inge and Astrid had been part of the unlucky group there, and she couldn’t wait to get back to the Mountain to tease them.

‘How many have you found?’ A voice hollered from behind the bushes.

‘I’m right here, Audun. You don’t have to shatter my eardrums. Oh, maybe that was your master plan, let your poor sister lose her hearing, because the orcs who had been banging at our gates weren’t enough.’ Idunn groused at her brother.

Audun appeared, his hand grasping a bundle of slimy arrows. He dropped it into his sack that he was holding, before making a sound of disgust and wiping his hand on Idunn’s shoulder.

‘Why not? You could borrow Oin’s trumpet.’ Audun grinned as Idunn let out a small shriek at the putrid substance on her shirt. Her brother ignored her threats of turning _him_ into a trumpet.

Audun ignored her, ‘Is that all? Have we covered this area?’ He pushed escaping, dark strands of hair out his eyes, ‘We can report back to Halvar.’

Idunn nodded, ‘We’ve been here for hours, it’s past midday. And I’m starving, I only ate a bowl of oats this morning, I mean, sure, there was berries with it and a lovely apple preserve, but then Inge wanted some of it. And I gave her some, because the other day, she brought me sweet lemon tarts that she was given some as leftovers from Freyja, who had so many from Sigurd because he made her so many for their anniversary. Besides Halvar will have a,’ she was shushed by her brother who rolled his eyes.

Audun thought his sister talked too much, even if she were locked in a room for days, chained to a wall, she’d manage to hold entire conversations. She would probably drive their Maker mad in the Halls of Waiting.

Idunn bristled, ‘Don’t shush me, I was still talking, do you always have to be so rude?’

Audun held out a hand and made a zipping motion over him mouth. Idunn subsided her chatter and watched in query as Audun stepped towards a large stone on the other side of the clearing.

Audun drew his sword, and Idunn heard what Audun has shushed her for. There was a rustling sound, like someone was moving, shifting behind the rock. Or something. There had been sightings of orcs even after the Siege had ended. Idunn drew a plain dagger as she stood behind her brother.

A huff came from behind the rock, followed by something that sounded like a curse word, it was spoken with such feeling and displeasure in a harsh tongue, Idunn could only guess that the being, now definitely confirmed to be a sentient creature, was extremely annoyed.

Audun had his sword angled towards the rock, and he inched forward. Just as he lifted his weapon up, a tall person stepped out from behind the rocks.

Said tall person rubbed their eyes and head respectively, and let out several other words that neither Audun nor Idunn could understand. The language seemed to replicate the smooth, flowing tongue of the Elves but integrate the harsh tongue of the Dwarves, with its thick sounds and clipped vowels.

Idunn met Audun’s gaze in shock, the latter having lowered his sword but instead, held it tentatively in front of him.

The tall creature finally lifted his head and noticed the two perplexed, on edge dwarves that were in front of him. Idunn’s brown eyes met startling gold, even closer to the colour of a flame. Idunn looked away, it almost felt as if the intensity of the stranger’s gaze was overpowering.

It was Audun who spoke first, ‘Who are you? What is your business here?’ He hefted his longsword higher, but Idunn felt it would make little difference. The stranger was so tall, he could easily swipe a hand and throw them both to the ground.

‘I can’t answer your second question, but my name is,’ The stranger paused, almost as if listening to a call from far away, ‘My name is Mairon.’ The stranger’s voice was deep, and it was smooth. A voice that could shake the earth, Idunn thought dimly.

She spoke, ‘Why can’t you tell us your business here?’

Mairon paused, a look of perplexion across his face, ‘I do not know my business here. Or where I am, for that matter.’

Audun scowled, ‘Did you hit your head on the rock?’

‘Perhaps. Do you want me to hit _your_ head on a rock?’

Idunn growled and her brother hefted his sword and pointed it at the man. Or elf. She couldn’t see his ears, but he was too tall and powerful looking for a simple man from Dale.

Mairon simply pushed the sword away, not even the slightest concern on his face, ‘No? Then don’t ask daft questions.’

Idunn decided she didn’t like this stranger. His height was unnatural, and he was beardless and he had threatened her brother. She decided to step in.

‘If you don’t know where we are, then there’s something wrong with you. Oin is a healer, and he’s the best around. Even to mysterious and impolite strangers,’ at this, Idunn noticed that Mairon had the gall to roll his eyes, ‘who have somehow hit their head on a rock and have forgotten where they are.’

‘You’re a dwarf.’ Mairon stared them both down.

‘Aren’t you perceptive?’ Audun sneered. Idunn wondered if her brother was going to strike the man, he was more of an ‘attack first, question later’ dwarrow.

Mairon ignored the expression on the her brother’s face, ‘I simply mean to say, that you’re Children of Aulë.’

Audun stilled, ‘Well, it’s not like he’s our Da or anything. But yes, I suppose.’

‘You’re both siblings?’

‘Aye, I didn’t ask for it,’ Audun muttered, ‘Are you going to come with us or not? Or do I get to do this the hard way?’ Her brother was trying to look menacing but even Indunn could tell it fell short of his desired effect.

‘The hard way, dwarf, where I do get to hit your head on a rock?’ Mairon asked, almost hopefully.

Idunn had heard enough, she stepped towards the irritating man. ‘Ignore my brother, you can hit his head on a rock later. We’re wasting time out here. You can either come with us and we can see if you can be treated, or we go back without you and tell the King that there’s a confused, annoying stranger in his lands.’

Mairon seemed to actually think it through, it was incredibly vexing. ‘I’ll come with you. But you still haven’t told me where I am.’

Audun had recovered from the jilt and sheathed his sword, though Idunn noticed his fingers were still grasping the sheath. ‘We’re in the wilds surrounding Erebor, lad.’

Mairon scowled, ‘Lad? Dwarf, I’m several thousands years older than you.’ He had the far off look in his eyes again, ‘I think so.’

‘I have a name, it’s not dwarf, it’s Audun. And this is my prickly sister, Idunn.’ Idunn gave up.

‘Very well, Audun. I have a name too, it’s not _lad_. It’s Mairon.’

‘You already said so. And I don’t remember asking again.’

Idunn decided to intervene before Mairon made true on his threats of rock versus Audun’s head. ‘Look, have you ever travelled in this area before? Do you know any of the lands surrounding Erebor.’

Mairon turned his head from glowering fiercely at Audun, ‘I don’t recall the name Erebor, let alone any other lands close.’

‘No, not even the Elven kingdoms? Where are you from?’

Mairon’s brows furrowed, ‘Not any Elven kingdom. The lands to the West.’

Audun snorted, and Idunn wondered if her brother made it his honourable duty to irritate all in his company, ‘Very descriptive. D’you mean you’re from Goblin Town or the Shire, maybe even Gundabad?’

Idunn elbowed her brother, as Mairon frowned, ‘I don’t recall any of those places.’

This man must have hit his head incredibly hard to have forgotten even his home. Mairon’s voice punctured the awkward silence, ‘I feel like I have heard of the Shire. Is that close?’

Idunn shook her head, ‘It’s a five month journey, if you’re travelling smoothly. It’s over the Misty Mountains and you have to travel through the lands around Bree,’ Mairon turned his head, ‘No, I don’t think I’ve ever been there.’

Idunn desperately tried to think of something to fill the silence, but any questions about Mairon, such as his family, life, his past, seemed pretty useless if the man could only remember his name.

‘Are you a Man, or an Elf?’ Idunn blurted out.

Audun snorted, ‘I don’t think he’s a Dwarf or a Hobbit.’

Idunn saw the way Mairon’s eyes twitched at the mention of the word, ‘Hobbit’, but he shook his head, ‘I am certainly not a Man, nor a mortal.’

‘Elf?’

Mairon cocked his head, ‘Do you feel the need to ask so many questions?’

Idunn held his gaze, though she really did not feel like it. Something about his gaze was incredibly unnerving, it was fierce, and perceptive. It seemed he could read her entire soul, her fears, her deepest ambitions.

‘If we’re taking you to the Mountain, I hardly would like to think that I don’t even know who I brought to the King.’

Mairon glared at her, ‘I’m not an Elf.’

‘What are you then? A Maia,’ Audun chuckled, he thought he was funny. But Mairon nodded, ‘Maia, yes.’

‘I was joking, lad.’ Audun saw Mairon’s intense look, ‘Ok, _Mairon_ , lad, I was joking. Are you actually a Maia?’

Mairon looked tense, like he was struggling with a thought, ‘I think so. I have a plethora of memories, yet I cannot sift through them. They seem endless, and unrecognisable.’

The idea really didn’t register with the two siblings, but Idunn nodded, ‘Do you know Gandalf?’

‘Who’s Gandalf?’ Mairon questioned, perplexed.

‘He’s a Maia, one of the wizard folk who drop by the Mountain occasionally,’ Audun offered.

‘I – No, I don’t know him.’ Idunn shared a look with her brother, she would scarcely believe that this stranger was a Maia, one of the angels spoken of in the stories, it made no sense. What would a Maia be doing, wandering the wilds near the Lonely Mountain, with nought but his name?

But he was no man, and he claimed he wasn’t an Elf. Idunn just wondered how the King would react to them bringing in a tall stranger, with eyes like fire.

‘ _Shamukh_!’ The voice of a guard rang out, they were approaching the Gates. ‘Who goes there?’

Audun stood up straighter, ‘Felman! Open these Gates and let us through otherwise I’ll throw ale at your head.’

‘As if anyone would give you ale, Audun, son of Ardhan!’ A loud voice rang out and Idunn recognised the dwarf, with an impressive queue of red hair and a beard that was braided with four strands, a warrior’s braid. Felman was one of Audun’s brother-in-arms and he was one of the fiercest (and loudest) warriors this side of the Misty Mountains.

Felman greeted them, and he inclined his head, ‘Lady Idunn. And, uh,’ Felman paused, Idunn guessed he thought this situation was above his pay grade, ‘Who’s the fellow who travels with you? Where’s he from?’

Mairon had stayed silent, for the past several minutes, and he felt slightly humiliated at being held captive, yes, it was captive and there was no other words for it, by two dwarves.

‘My name is Mairon, Dwarf. And you can address any questions directly to me.’ He heard Auden mutter, ‘But can you even answer those questions?’ and resisted the urge to throw the mouthy dwarrow from the highest peak of the Mountain that he saw before him.

The other dwarf, the female, made a face, ‘We found him and he barely knows who he is. Also, he’s, uh, what’s the word? _Prickly_.’ Mairon glowered at the dwarf, he could barely tell the two siblings apart.

They both had dark brown skin, dark eyes and black hair. But whilst, the irritating one who felt the need to jibe at him, the one with the sword, had a thick beard, braided with beads, and wore leathers and vambrances, the other one, Idunn, who asked too many questions, had a shorter beard, shaved on the sides and longer at the front. She wore leathers and breeches as well, but he saw no sword or visible weapon on her. To him, they were both short, beard sporting, vexing twins.

By Eru! His head throbbed and he felt like someone had dunked him in a vat of tar and threw feathers on him, how did he even know what that felt like? The last thing he wanted was to collapse at the mercy of Dwarves, but his mind was swimming and the air was stuffy. So many thoughts swirled in his head, _Ring_ , _punishment_ , _sick_ , _Valinor_ , _Baggins_ , _dwarves_ , _Gandalf was another name for Olorin_ , _who was the King_ , _Ilúvatar_ , _mortals_ , and above all else, _don’t swoon into the arms of a Dwarf_.

Of course, that’s exactly what he did.

~

He was in a dimly lit room, and there were lanterns that glowed softly around the room. He was on a bed, and his joints felt stiff, his limbs heavy. His head ached.

He had fainted, hadn’t he?

Mairon let out a groan of frustration, what was wrong with him? There was movement in the corner of his eye and he realised he had drawn the attention of another. A Dwarf who was far older than the two he had met earlier shuffled slowly.

His hair was entirely white, his face was lined with wrinkles, the burdens of old age. He carried a metal object of a sort, close to his face. And he was holding a vial of a mystery liquid that was clear.

‘Don’t make me drink that,’ he muttered, one humiliation was enough. Being forced to drink by an old Dwarf didn’t entice him.

‘Ah, he’s awake. You fell pretty hard, lad. Audun wasn’t able to catch you properly and you hit your head on the stone.’

Audun. The male? Mairon let a hand drift to his scalp, and a sharp pain erupted as he tugged his loose hair.

‘Careful, lad. There was a gash there, I had to stitch it up.’ The Dwarf set the vial down next to him and invited himself to inspect the wound.

Stitch? What was stitched? Surely, no, surely not his head. What manner of creature would take a needle to the skin and sew him as if he were a patched blanket? Mairon wondered if it was wise to utter a quick prayer to the One to save him from this.

Whatever he had done to deserve this must have been pretty bad.

The old Dwarf leaned back, satifised, ‘It’s healing well.’ He reached for the vial and Mairon jerked back, ignoring how his scalp felt like there was a small Dwarf taking a pick-axe to his scalp.

‘I’m not going to drink that.’

The Dwarf’s face twisted, ‘Eh? Did you say somethin’?’ Great, so the Dwarf was hard of hearing, so Mairon took it upon himself to sit up and glare eye to eye with the Dwarf, ‘I said I’m not going to drink that,’ he hissed.

The Dwarf, instead of looking appropriately intimidated, chuckled, ‘Lad, I’ve stared down Dwalin refusing to let me treat an axe in his shoulder. You’re gonna drink this. It’ll help, trust me.’

Mairon felt incredibly affronted, there was nothing the Dwarf could do, Dwalin or not, that would make him drink a random liquid from a vial. He was interrupted by the Dwarf grabbing his chin and emptying the vial into his mouth.

Mairon recoiled at the bitter taste blooming over his tongue, and he scowled but found he didn’t have the energy to exact some revenge.

But the pain in his scalp was subsiding and the heaviness in his limbs was lifting. The Dwarf was looking at him, satisfied, ‘Better?’

Mairon grimaced, he was at the mercy of these Dwarves but he did feel stronger. And the pain had dulled down to a small ache. He just nodded.

The old Dwarf smiled, ‘That’s a good lad.’ Mairon wondered if Dwarves called everyone lad from the youngest Elven maiden to a wizened Man and even Eru Ilúvatar. Feeling thoroughly patronised, he leaned back against the soft cushion.

‘I’ll send Idunn in now, you don’t have to see the King yet, but maybe after you’ve had the chance to rest, you’ll remember some more.’ With that, the Dwarf exited out the door, and returned with the female Dwarf from earlier. Mairon just prayed for patience.


End file.
